


Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is

by TheSchubita



Series: Death On Two Legs [1]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: (not in this part tho), 1974, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Brian's hepatitis, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Paul is his own warning, Supernatural Elements, eventual poly!queen later on, sick character (briefly)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 20:05:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSchubita/pseuds/TheSchubita
Summary: Brian is dying, or so Roger thinks, and he takes up an offer that has quite dire consequences.Not that Roger cares.





	Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, I'm kinda nervous as this is my first fic in a while, and also my first Queen fic ever. This work is purely fictional and is meant for fandom only. If you're one of the people mentioned here, please don't proceed. If this shows up on any social media shared with the guys (Insta, Twitter) I'll come to your house and breathe loudly till you take it down ☺.
> 
> First off, I'd like to thank @riceinthechurch on tumblr, who has been a MAJOR help in this, and has read every part dutifully, and helped name the series, as well as most parts. Please go read their fic "Pain Is So Close To Pleasure" - they're aliquis on AO3.
> 
> This was a tiny hc I originally posted on @bohemian-rhapsody-slash (KyluxFicHell on here, seriously, check out their fics too) on tumblr anonymously, and it grew legs and, well, here we are.
> 
> One thing that is important to me is that everything is tagged appropriately. If you read something that you feel should be tagged, please tell me. I want no one to be uncomfortable, or worse, triggered by something I didn't catch.
> 
> Also, English is not my first language, and I'm always willing to learn - if you catch something weird, you're free to tell me, as long as you're nice about it ;).

"Poor Brian," Paul muses as he settles next to Roger in a plastic chair. Roger shoots him a glare underneath his messy hair, but Paul remains unfazed. This day just went from horrid to absolutely revolting. "The prospect to lose an arm like that – let alone his _life_ –"

 

"Brian's not going to die," Roger snaps at him. "He'll pull through." _He has to._

"Oh, I'm sorry," Paul says hastily. "I didn’t want to step on any toes – it's just – the doctor didn’t seem hopeful but –"

 

" _Fuck_ the doctor," he spits viciously. "Fuck them all – Brian is going to be just _fine_."

 

"You’re all being so brave," Paul says, and despite the sincere tone, Roger feels – unsettled. "It must be so hard for you all, considering your options." That makes Roger bristle.

 

"The _fuck_ are you talking about," he hisses, voice tethering between fury and desperation.

 

"Well," Paul blinks at him, appearing to be startled at his statement. "If Brian – _hm_ , you know," he makes an aborted motion, and Roger glares daggers at him.

 

“No, I do not know,” Roger says through clenched teeth. Paul looks like he’s sucking on a lemon.

 

"Well you have to consider the future of _Queen_ –"

 

" _There is no future for_ Queen _without him_ ," Roger explodes, before he recoils from his own words, lip wobbling dangerously. He bites down on it, hard.

 

"I see," Paul says gently after a moment, and he looks at roger with a clouded expression. "You must all love each other very dearly." 

 

"Of course," Roger swallows. Something about Paul’s eyes make him uneasy. "We’re a family."

 

.

 

The news are – not good. Brian might die, _is_ dying, the treatment not taking as the doctors had hoped, and by now it’s too late to cut off the damn arm – the one Brian had begged them not to take in a rare moment of complete wakefulness – they were getting fewer and far between the fitful bouts of fever-sleep. Roger feels like someone is sucking the air, the very life out of his surroundings as he watches Brian’s pale, sunken face, eyes moving restlessly behind closed eyelids.

 

The doctor are discussing their options, something about a last ditch treatment, that, while hell for recovery, has still a chance of taking. Roger gathers it’s that or –

Roger feels sick. Freddie is barely holding it together, alternating between stoic and hysteric, and John constantly looks as if he’s about to cry. Roger throws himself out of the chair and mutters something about a smoke – not that the other would have heard him. Outside, he fumbles with the lighter, close to just throw himself off somewhere, when a hand reaches out and lights his cig with steady hands.

 

"I’m so sorry," Paul says quietly. 

 

_"_ Mate, no offense, but could you fuck off?" He bites, and Paul startles at the harsh tone, not that Roger feels particularly sorry. He doesn’t have the capacity to feel anything other than numb. Something passes over Paul’s face, too quick for Roger to be able to put a name on it.

 

"I don’t want to intrude," Paul says, hands raised in a show of peace. "I figured you shouldn’t be alone, is all. I can be quiet." Roger huffs, but the lack of answer prompts Paul to remain. Roger takes long, greedy drags from his cig, watching the smoke furl then disperse with detached fascination.

 

Paul remains quiet for exactly two minutes before he speaks up. Roger is this close throwing him off somewhere high. "I can’t really – grasp it, you know? Sometimes unfair things just happen to good people," he muses, more to himself than to Roger. Roger counts to ten. "I hope – well, i suppose it doesn’t really matter what i hope, but i hope he makes it." Paul continues, and Roger has had enough. He punches the wall next to him with enough force to split the skin over his knuckles.

 

"Fuck you, Paul," he growls. "Brian is _not_ going to die." Paul looks at him, eyes wide.

 

"Whoa, hey, I only meant –"

 

"I don’t give a _shit_ what you meant" Roger spits out, turning away. 

 

"I suppose there’s nothing left than to pray for a miracle," Paul says to his retreating back. Roger drops the cig and whirls around.

 

"Are you _joking_? You want me to fucking pray – there’s nothing religious about this _shite of a situation! Where’s fucking_ God _in this?"_ Paul looks at him impassively. "You wanker – don’t you think I already did? And now he’s even worse off – _fuck_ , I’d give anything for him to recover!"

 

And there it is; Roger _would._ He’d exchange places in a heartbeat if given the choice – it’s not even a choice, not for him. He loves Brian too much to let him go, loves Freddie and John too much to have this break them. But Roger is absolutely powerless and this _shithead_ is suggesting he _prays_.

 

"I see," Paul says, and there’s a strange glint in his eyes. "Anything?"

 

"Of fucking course, you twat –"

 

"Like your soul?" And now Roger snorts. 

 

"Your parents must’ve been _real_ religious fucks.”

 

“Indulge me,” Paul says, completely unfazed.

 

“What, is this what gets you off?” Roger snaps, but he feels exhausted, all of a sudden. Brian, Paul, _everything_ was just wearing down on him. “Yeah, I’d fucking sell my soul to the devil for Brian to live – but there is no such thing as God or the devil – religion is just – useless words in a book, that everyone just uses as an absolution to be shitty anyways."

 

Paul doesn’t look offended as Roger would’ve expected – instead he seems to contemplate something. "I see," he says then, voice silky. "How deep your love for him, for _all_ of them, runs – amazing."

 

It hits too close to home – like a stab in his heart where he’s tucked his feelings for _Brian-and-Freddie-and-John_ away safely. Roger is about to tell him to fuck off again, when something makes him pause.

 

Paul’s eyes are slowly bleeding red, a small smile curling around his lips. 

 

"In that case, I’d like to offer you a deal, Roger Taylor." He sounds strangely formal.

 

"– what the _fuck?"_ Roger whispers, looking at the – man?

 

"You are absolutely right – _God_ has nothing to do with this – but I can help you get what you want."

 

Roger is so baffled by the turn of events, instead of a rational reply or, you know, _laughter_ , he blurts: "What, Brian’s life for my immortal soul?" It’s meant to be sarcastic, a knee-jerk barb, but now Paul smiles, too wide, eyes darkening, and Roger feels the sudden urge to run, but he’s rooted on the spot.

 

"I always knew you were a smart one," he replies, looking pleased.

 

"Are you – you’re serious –“ Roger’s breath stutters. He feels his vision tunnel. “You sick _fuck_ , Brian is dying and you’re making some sick joke –" he takes a step forward, and Paul holds up his hand, and something about all of this is so blood curdling, that Roger freezes in his tracks. 

 

"All of these non-believers, nowadays," Paul tuts. “I miss the Dark Ages,” he sighs, voice coming from somewhere deep – Roger feels like a tiny mouse in front of a snake about to strike.

 

And then something in Roger’s vision _tilts_ and instead of them being alone, there are dozens of people milling about suddenly, people who weren’t there just a second ago, walking listlessly, with no purpose.

 

_Ghosts,_ he realizes with a start _._ He jerks back. This can’t be real. It can’t be, he doesn’t believe it. He looks for an out, even pinches himself to wake up. This had to be just some weird acid trip. Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, maybe Freddie even slipped him something to help him calm down and this is some fucked up nightmare. But then he sees a _very_ familiar mop of curls in the crowd, appearing in the corner of his eyes, but when he turns, there are only strangers passing through.

 

“What was – Paul, was that –“ he stares through the mass of grey silhouettes sharply. It couldn’t be.

 

“Yes, that’s Brian’s spirit,” Paul says. He sounds mournful. Roger doesn’t believe it for a second. “I’ve seen him pass through here a few times the past few days – he’s fighting, but –“ Paul sighs. “If he’s already wandering, so to speak, I’m afraid it won’t take much for him to let go.”

 

"Oh, _God_ ," Roger keens. Paul had been watching him with sharp eyes the entire time.

 

"These are the souls of those who cannot go back, but cannot go forward either,” he says solemnly, sounding genuinely sad for a second. "Brian will join them, sooner or later."

 

" _No,"_ Roger says. Paul inclines his head.

 

"I’m afraid so," he shrugs. Roger eyes him warily.

 

"This is – I’m either on drugs – or having a mental breakdown, but –" he shakes his head.

 

"I’ll tell you what," Paul says, beckoning smile still in place. "I like you. I like _Queen_. Normally the deal is ten years – but I’ll give you twenty – a friend’s discount, if you will. What have you got to lose?" 

 

Paul is being serious, Roger realizes. He wants to laugh at him, but he’s – he’s just exhausted, and if Paul somehow thinks he can save Brian – why the fuck not.

 

"Twenty years?" He asks. Part of him, a rational part, that sounds a lot like Brian, tells him he’s having a serious issues if he’s even entertaining this – madness. But, the rest of him is just blank.

 

He’s still in his twenties – he’ll be in his forties then. That’s a longer life than he privately thinks he’ll have by the way he’s living, anyways. Also, the chances of any of this being real are astronomical.

 

"Yes. And Brian will make a full recovery, and you can spend the rest of your life next to the loves of your life – that’s not too bad, now, isn’t it?" Paul tells him. Roger wants to reflexively deny the loves of his life part but – what was the point? Roger is an honest person, always has been, and he isn’t shy to show how he feels, good and bad – except for one thing. Somewhere along the years, his stupid, foolish heart managed to fall in love with Brian, with John, with Freddie. He didn’t fight it – he couldn’t. But he hid he feelings, buried them deep, and he pretends it’s not love whenever his heart skips a beat when John smiles that beautiful crinkly smile of his, or when he watches Freddie create, or when Brian gets so excited about something he slurs his vowels sometimes.

 

He swallows, before squaring his shoulders.

 

"Fine. Twenty years,” he agrees, because, _what_ does _he have to lose?_ “Good enough for me. Let’s shake on it."

 

"Oh, no," Paul laughs. “We have to seal it with a kiss."

 

.

 

Roger stays outside long after Paul left, stays even after his pack of cigs is long gone, stays until the sky darkens, sunset full of warm colors, dissonant with the empty feeling inside him. Finally, after the sun has set, he shuffles inside. It was time to face the music.

 

He’s greeted by a very harried looking Freddie.

 

“Roger, love, where have you been? It’s been –“ he glances at the clock. “Almost four hours.” He steps close to Roger, hovering, but Freddie takes one look at his face, and he seems to hesitate to touch him, whatever he sees in his face making him look cautious.

 

“I’ve – just needed to sort something out, I guess,” he shrugs, not looking Freddie directly in the eye.

 

“And did you?” John’s voice suddenly asks from the doorway to Brian’s room. Startled, he turns around, taking John’s red-rimmed eyes with a stab of guilt.

 

“I – yeah, I guess. Sorry, I was –” Roger says, and that’s when Freddie sets a hand on his shoulder, and pulls him closer until he’s sort of tucked under Freddie’s armpit.

 

“You don’t have to – stay strong for us,” Freddie tells him quietly. We’re all –“ he pauses, looking at John.

 

“We’re Queen,” John answers, moving closer. It’s a weird answer, but somehow, he knows exactly what John is trying to tell him. Roger feels like he’s about to cry, suddenly, where before, he just felt empty. Freddie sees his crunched face, and he softens even more.

 

“Oh Roger, c’ mere,” he says, pulling him into a warm hug. Roger clings to him, unable to help the sniffle escaping him. John joins them, arms both around him and Freddie, and Roger feels it should be them comforting John, youngest out of all of them, but John always seemed to be a still mountain within a storm. They stay like this for a long time, and when they untangle themselves from each other, Roger feels a bit more settled than before, not quite fraying at the edges of his sanity anymore.

 

That’s when Brian’s attending doctor strides into view. They all stiffen, the nervous energy back in full force.

 

“We have good news,” the doctor tells them, cutting right to the chase. Those four words alone are enough to disperse the tension in Roger’s body like he’s a puppet whose strings have just been cut. The doctor is still talking, and Roger is trying to listen, he really is, but he can’t hear anything past the beating of his heart, unnaturally loud, and he’s sure the others must be hearing it.

 

“Roger?” John asks him quietly, as Freddie is now bombarding the doctor with a myriad of questions. He looks up to John.

 

“He’s going to be okay,” Roger says slowly. John nods, looking unsurely at him. “He –“

 

“You can see him now, if you’d like. He’s awake,” the doctor informs Freddie, who must have asked. They’re all falling through the door into Brian’s room before the doctor had even finished speaking.

 

“Brian,” Freddie exclaims, practically propelling himself towards the bed. John and Roger aren’t far behind. “How are you feeling, love?” Freddie asks, taking Brian’s hand – the hand that is still _there_.

 

“Horrible,” Brian croaks, but the corner of his lips twitch up slightly.

 

“You’re an absolute _tosser_ ,” John informs him drily, but the harsh tone is contradicted by his swollen eyes. Brian just looks at John, eyes fond. “Don’t you fucking dare pull anything like that ever again –“

 

“I’m sorry,” Brian says.

 

“You should be,” John says, but then the tension seeps out from him too, and he moves to Brian’s other side. Now Brian’s looking at Roger, and Roger feels –

 

“You were dying,” Roger whispers, and he hears a sharp intake of breath, but he’s unable to look away from Brian’s face – still pale, still drawn, but not looking like he’s already dead.

 

“Rog,” Brian says, and he lifts his free hand. Roger is rooted to the spot, his entire frame shaking. “Roger,” Brian says, a bit more forceful. “Come here. Please.” Roger exhales, but he manages to get his feet moving, but only until he’s reached the end of the bed.

 

“Blondie,” Freddie says, and when Roger looks at him, there’s something entirely new in his face. Freddie, as temperamental as he is himself, always is the mediator between them when they’re burning bright with anger, too stubborn to give an inch, so it’s not unexpected him trying to placate Roger – except Roger’s not _angry_. John however, is simply watching him, content to let it unfold.

 

“You were going to die, and – _I don’t know what I would have done if you did_!” He shrieks, fists balled in his hair. Freddie lets go of Brian’s hand and takes a step towards Roger, wide-eyed, but John makes a small, disapproving sound, stopping Freddie in his tracks.

 

“Roger,” Brian says again, surprisingly calm in the face of Roger’s impending breakdown. “I’m here, _still_ here. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” And that’s where Roger sobs, and – _carefully_ – throws his arms around Brian’s neck, and _cries_.

 

“You’re a fucking twat,” Roger says into Brian’s hair. “But you’re _our_ twat, and if you _ever_ start getting sick again, you fucking _tell_ one of us,” he says forcefully. Brian’s arms are loosely wrapped around his waist, tightening slightly at the words.

 

“He’s not wrong,” John agrees from the side. “We’re going to have a _long_ talk about you being a stubborn, irresponsible _prick_ ,” the conversational tone makes Brian bristle a little bit. “But for now,” John continues voice suddenly much warmer. “I’m glad you’re getting better.” Roger shifts his head so he can look at John. The sheer relief and joy paints his face beautifully, and Roger’s heart throbs just a little at the sight. John is slightly rubbing Brian’s side while Freddie shifts closer, hands carding through both Brian’s and Roger’s hair.

 

“We’re gonna be alright, darlings,” Freddie says, confidently, and it washes the rest of the residual anxiety right out of Roger. He lets himself get lost in the warmth surrounding him, focuses on just feeling. Then, the door clicks quietly, and Freddie moves slightly away.

 

“Ah, Paul –“ Freddie says, and Roger’s eyes shoot open, suddenly feeling like a ton of bricks just hit him. He jerks, turning to face Paul.

 

Paul is conversing quietly with Freddie, but Roger can’t begin to even attempt trying to listen. Paul looks – normal, like the little skulking rat he usually is, eating out of Freddie’s hand. But then Paul looks at Roger suddenly, just a second, but it’s enough to send a crawling, sticky feeling down his spine. He feels cold.

 

Paul smiles, seemingly at what Freddie was saying, nodding along dutifully to his words.

 

Roger knows better.

 

It worked – that meant –

 

He swallows, and looks away, down at Brian. He’s so focused on not throwing up, that he doesn’t notice John watching him, frowning.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a part of an ongoing series that's already written and finished and already on a posting schedule - always updates on Thursdays!
> 
> I'd love to hear what you thought - Comments are love ♥
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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